She steps forward
understanding that she must
go on this path alone,
utilizing resources as they come.

He did it before.
Alone.
He walked along carrying
grocery bags full of corn,
beans, cheese, and the occasional
avocado in hand.
A treat, he would say, for
working that extra hour
at Dearden’s last week.

She violates the privacy
of his path. A 20 year old
tired of waiting for the MTA
to mope along their path.
A chance encounter.
He dropped his tortillas at her feet.
Bendita niña.

She watches him kneel with no ease.
A tattoo on her calf that reminds him of
his grandmother’ story about love.
Grandma had one story about love.
But she, she tattooed, she
steps back, uneased.

Señor, do you need
a hand with those groceries?

He smiles and says, Sí.

She steps forward
understanding that she must
go on this path alone,
utilizing resources as they come.

She takes a chemistry book
out of her book bag.
Inserts tortillas, fresh and fragrant.
Holds broccoli, cauliflower and rice bags.
He purchased no meat, she notes.
He notes the bus is not there.

This poem is part of my current, 3-volume poetry and photography chapbook project, which includes “Dokkodo; Volume 1—The Way of Walking Alone” available online at http://mkt.com/smiley-faze.